My Love
by Luca-Pacheco
Summary: Post Living Doll fic. When Grissom loses Sara his world falls apart, and he's the only one who doesn't see it. He owns her, yet he's completely her slave. Angst, character death revised format, thanks to the people who warned me . CHAPTER SIX IS UP! R
1. Chapter 1: Mourning Sara

**My Love**

**Disclaimer: **Nothing belongs to me.

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**Chapter 1: Mourning Sara**

Too late. Too late. Sara was barely alive when they found her, and for a moment he actually thought they could save her. For a moment he actually thought HE could save her. But as soon as they got into the hospital, it was obvious that she was dead already. Resucitation was an exercise in futility. The doctor went down the hallway and told everybody the news. The whole team –even Brass- broke down in tears, but Grissom just stood there, frozen and stiff. He could only whisper to the doctor "I want to see her".

But the body was already going to the coroner's.

Dr. Robbins was about to perform autopsy on Sara Sidle's body, but he knew he couldn't do it before Grissom got the chance to say goodbye to his long time pupil, friend and lover; so he let Grissom in and left the room. Grissom stayed about half an hour caressing her lifeless face, looking at her like the rest of the world didn't exist and murmuring "honey, honey…", still in denial of her damaged state: for him, she was just a sleeping beauty who would open her eyes when she heard his call. Then he realized she wouldn't, so he kissed her forehead, then each one of her cheeks, then her nose and finally, her lips, in one long not _goodbye_, but _see you soon_.

There was no burial. There was a cremation, as she wanted. Her ashes were given to Grissom, at his demand – he claimed to be her husband and nobody opposed the argument. When everything was done, the team went to comfort him, which was another exercise in futility. Warrick invited him to his house - were everybody would be, but he rejected the invitation. Catherine wanted to ride him home, but he didn't accept either. He made them know he needed to go home solo, on his own, or otherwise he'd just… lose it, completely.

And having said that, he took his car and drove home.

He opened the door and he met his cold, aseptic townhouse with his huge TV screen and his genius – level crossword puzzles. Except, he could smell the sweet "Sidle Scent" invading all of it, her fingerprints were all over the place just like her clothes and her stuff, and her side of the bed was full of warmth, full of her scent, full of her presence. He put her ashes on her night table, took her favourite t-shirt, sat on his bed facing her side, and as he took his X-acto knife with his trembling hand and pressed her T-shirt against him with the other, Grissom did what he had refused to do all this time: he started crying tears of sadness, tears of guilt, tears of hate for everything not Sara… crying himself bitterly to sleep.

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Stay tuned, twists to come. When I go angst, I go all the way…


	2. Chapter 2: Professor Grissom

**Chapter 2: Professor Grissom**

**September 16, 1994.**

This was Grissom's first day teaching at the seminary at the University of San Francisco. Work at the headquarters had gotten to him really hard, and his yearly migraine had been particularly acute this time. He entered into the classroom, introduced himself and begun the class. There were at least 100 students in that big room, all of them interested – at least to some degree- in what he had to say. After all, they were all professionals and they all were there by their own will. It was impossible to distinguish one student from the other, let alone memorizing their names and their faces. But that didn't matter to him: much to the contrary, he felt relieved about the fact that he wasn't obligated to make personal contact with each one of them. Grissom in one corner, them in the other, that's the way he liked it.

However, he couldn't help but notice a girl sitting in the last chair, in a dark corner, far from the rest. Taking notes sometimes, looking at him sometimes, always silent and paying all of her attention. During his whole exposition he was aware of her gaze and her presence and that bugged him somewhat – anyway, he tried to ignore it. But no matter how hard he tried, he ended up looking at the girl in the corner with jeans, a purple blouse, brown hair in a pigtail and brown eyes to match. That was making him uncomfortable, so he kept taking questions from students and having other things in mind to avoid the feeling that came with that gaze.

The class ended and the classroom got empty as he picked up his papers and his stuff. Just as he was going to leave, a voice called him:

- Professor Grissom?

It gave the guy the scare of his life. He turned to look, and it was precisely that girl of the corner. She apologized ("that's fine, no problem") and she introduced herself: her name was Sara. "Like the butterfly…" Grissom said, and she smiled and nodded.

She came to him with a lot of questions about his exposition, but she didn't ask in class because the other students were bombarding him already. He invited her for a walk around the campus as he explained to her everything she needed to know, ignoring the inquisitive looks all the other students gave to them. Eventually he found out (after looking at her student card) that was her birthday, so he took his Insect Album and gave her the picture of the _Heliconius Sara _– or _Sara Longwing_ -as an improvised, casual gift.

For the rest of the day, he went on giving his lectures like nothing had happened but a wide, content smile had formed on his face and didn't get erased. He had made her promise she would come back to him everyday after class to ask him anything she had doubts about or anything she may want to know more about. Normally, he would be doing research about cockroaches or venomous spiders, but now, for the first time in his life, he thought it would be interesting to know more about something beautiful. So he spent the whole night googling, reading and drawing sketches of the _Sara Longwing_.

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**5 years later**

Catherine was talking to the whole team: Warrick, Nick, Brass… even Greg was there. Normally they wouldn't be doing it, but this gossip was J-U-I-C-Y, really something never heard of before.

- Brass, don't you think it's too suspicious that Grissom actually takes his vacations since 5 years ago? And he always takes them around the same time, which is September… when summer's over, for God's sake! And I tell you: everyday, when shift's over, he calls somebody from his cell phone and spends an eternity on the phone…

- And what does he say? Does it sound like a dirty talk or something? – asked Greg

- Well… no. He's all business – Catherine responded - talking about bugs and forensics and work… but it's not about what he says, it's about how he says it. People, his voice is puuuure sugar and honey… the other day I heard him say "you gotta take care of that wound honey, you gotta see a doctor…" I mean, when does he call somebody "honey"? and when has he cared about any of us seeing a doctor or not?

- Catherine, it could mean anything. We don't even who's the person at the other side of the phone.

- Maybe you don't know, but I do. I asked him who was he talking to, and he said I was a student from the seminar he went to – oh coincidence! – 5 years ago. Then I asked him if she was really just a student and if she was then why did he call her everyday after the shift, and he said she was an excellent student and she was in some kind of project, so he asessed her; and then _he _was in some kind of project (?) and needed her help with physics (because she has a major in physics, gentlemen! and from Harvard!) and then something happened with her arm of her leg or whatever and he was worried (worried? That's the most anti-Grissom thing I've ever heard) and to make a long story short, if there's no excuse he makes up one so they can keep in touch. And then we kept talking about her, and at one point he told me the day he started giving his lectures was – OH COINCIDENCE!!! –her birthday, and he gave her the _Sara Longwing _picture from his Insect Album because that's the brat's name…

- Wow… but… anyway, a stamp is a very insignificant gift – said Nick, not totally convinced.

- Insignificant???!!! The Insect Album is one of Grissom's most precious things!!! He felt violated when I tried to take a sneak peak!!! It took him 10 years to complete the album, and 3 of them were looking for that Sara Butterfly picture "because that's the difficult one" and at the end, he got it – not without trouble – from a dealer of dubious reputation for U$100!!! – and then he just… gives it to that brat as soon as he meets her because "she has the same name as the butterfly…" this is something else – said a very smiling Catherine – our prayers have been answered. Gentlemen: The Lone Entomologist is in sweet wuv!!! Mua, mua, mua!!! –and everybody laughed with her.

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Well, this was the second chapter, thanks to everyone for your reviews. Sorry for any spelling mistakes: English is not my second language. I know this may seem like it doesn't make sense, but it will, trust me.


	3. Chapter 3: I'll do right by you

**Chapter 3: I'll do right by you **

_I dream of rain_

_I dream of gardens in the desert sand_

_I wake in pain_

_I dream of love as time runs through my hand_

Grissom woke up, feeling a year older than the night before. I some movie he watched they said "a bullet always tells the truth" but in his case, it was his knife telling the truth. He thought it was childish and maybe immature (as opossed to the ubermature man he was known to be), but Sara's T-shirt helped him calm down ad sleep a little better, though it still felt like hell for him. He got up, feeling tired and numb, and took a shower. As the water touched his skin, he remembered how it rained so hard that night and how hard he was trying to get an answer from Natalie…

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**That night:**

Natalie was in another word, singing that creepy song about a doll and her sawdust while Grissom tried to convince her it was indeed about her, but as soon as she said "this was her wail as she died", Grissom lost it. He started shaking her and yelling at her for Sara's location, just to find out that A) she wasn't gonna pay attention and B) the lyrics were rather descriptive of Sara's situation –and that's when he got worried, not concerned –and a tear fell down his face.

At that exact moment, Brass entered the interrogation room with an enormous bottle of Chlorox. "Now it is" he said, and he started dripping drops of bleach at Natalie, who started screaming in absolute panic and then started crying: "I didn't kill her!!! I'm keeping my promise to Ernie, I'm his special girl!!!"

When she said that, a thousand lightbulbs lit up over Grissom's head: Sara has said something to him seven years ago. "I keep trying to be your star pupil".

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Why does a person have to be dead or in great danger so one can understand what they meant? "That was a seminar, this is a real case"… that was a good answer, a professional one, apropriate for the moment. He always looked professional around her, and he always felt fine about that. But he could have explained himself better later. He could have understood the subtext of her words and responded to that. He could have told her that she was already his special girl. He could have quit his job in Las Vegas and gotten a job as a full-time teacher at the University of San Francisco and asked her to live with him, just as he had planned when the seminar was over. Maybe they would be living a quiet life by now – she as a criminalist and he as a teacher – they may even have a child or two and a dog just like Bruno, so their biggest problem would be "where's Tomas's homework?" Or they wouldn't have kids if she didn't want to, and their biggest problem would be "where will we spend next winter's vacations?"

But he wasn't adventurous. He was reserved and adept to security – in other words, a chicken – so he couldn't ask her ("I would have said yes" he was told about one year ago). However, he couldn't let go of her either so he created this weak connection through phone calls, trips to San Francisco to celebrate her birthday and Christmas gifts, everything with the lame excuse of keeping in touch with his student – a excuse not even she bought. By the time he asked her to come to Vegas they both knew they at least liked each other, but they also knew it wasn't going anywhere. And yet he felt he owned her, and it burnt him inside to see her with someone else… it took him 10 years to realize he was hurting her and he had to make a decision.

He knew exactly what he wanted to do, and it was to share the rest of his life with her. Grissom smiled bitterly at the memories. He did as he preached – one step at the time. He started working to gain back her trust and her friendship, correcting his mistakes as a supervisor; then taking them both to comfort zone emotionally speaking and then slowly getting closer and closer… it's impossible to pinpoint the exact moment they became "a couple", but it became crystal clear to him when they made love for the first time. They didn't sleep that night, they needed to exorcize all the good and bad emotions they had held all this time. At one point, he looked her in the eye he thought "this is real, this is happening" and laughed full of happiness. Sara's laughter followed: "you said that out loud" she said, and they engaged in a deep kiss while the rest of their bodies danced to the same song.

Now all that was gone, and that Natalie was the one to blame. He got out of the shower, dressed up, said "see you soon" to Sara and Bruno and went to the prison she was in. He got in easily, there were surprisingly few controls and Natalie was waiting for him in the interrogation room. For Sara's sake, he would do right by her. He would talk to that woman, no matter how hard it was for him to even look at her. Grissom entered the room and found himself face to face with The Miniature Killer. His words were few and to the point:

- You killed my girl.

And with one swing of his knife, he left a bleeding Natalie on the floor while the cops went to restrain him.

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The movie is _Man on Fire_, with Denzel Washington.


	4. Chapter 4: Drawn to her

**Chapter 4: Drawn to her**

**1.999:**

Shift had just ended and Brass was ready to go home. He was really tired and not without a reason: the amount of work had been unprecedented. However, there had been time for gossip. He wasn't a man of gossip, but Gil Grissom being in love was something just too huge to be ignored. "It was about time, and surprising… the man practically had a reserved ticket to a lonely life and a lonely death…" Brass thought. He was getting out of his office when Judy told him he had a phone call, so he took it.

- CSI Las Vegas Crime Lab, Brass speaking… yes sir, I'm Dr. Grissom's supervisor, how can I help you?... excuse me sir, I have both work and a life to do, so I can't stand here listening to your pranks… of course, I understand, it's just that what you're telling me is incredible, are you serious?... OK, I'll do as you suggest, could you give me a phone number for contact? ... Aha… aha… ok, thank you. I'll call as soon as possible. Goodbye.

That messed up his plans. He had to stay in the lab a little more to keep an eye on Grissom. He went to check on him and there he was. Talking to somebody about strictly professional stuff, just as Catherine had described him. Talking with that stupid adolescent tone of voice, just as Catherine had described him. Brass waited patiently, seeing without being seen, until the phone call ended and Grissom went to the coroner's. He left his cell phone, as usual, and Brass lost no time picking it up, checking the last number Grissom called to, and calling again.

**The next day:**

Grissom went back to the break room to pick up his cell phone (again). When he got there, he found out not only his cell phone, but two people whose faces were unreadable at the moment. Both Catherine and Brass wanted to talk to him.

- Grissom, we need to talk to you about your morning phone calls, or more specifically, about your girlfriend…- Brass said.

- She's _not _my girlfriend, she's a student of mine – Grissom corrected him emphatically.

- Yeah, yeah, of course – responded Brass, with more indulgence than anything else.

- Grissom, I think what you're doing, you know, with the phone calls and the trips to San Francisco, it's wrong – at this point, Brass touched her arm as if to say "stop, please".

- What's wrong with it? If this is about age... – at this point, Catherine and Brass looked at each other sadly, and Catherine sighed.

- How… how old is she? – She asked softly – how old was she five years ago, when you first met?

- She was 22… no, 23, when we first met. It was her birthday, I told you that already. Now she's 27, she'll turn 28 next month.

- Ok… ok, fine. Where does she work?

- She works at the San Francisco Crime Lab. Graveyard shift in case you're interested, mom.

- Grissom, could you… eh… draw a picture of her for us? – asked Brass, trying to remain calm and handing him a piece of paper and a pencil – you know, just so we can have an idea of what she looks like…

- Ok, I'll do it if that calms you two down… your attitude is very suspicious. Am I so antisocial that when I keep in touch with somebody it's worth an investigation? – He said that last part to himself. He took the paper and the pencil and started drawing. His traces were fast, yet the look in his eyes was extremely intense. He treated that piece of paper like a lady, and they noticed it. After twenty minutes of dedicated drawing, Grissom gave them the paper.

- There you have it. Sara Sidle. I put her name on it and everything. Now, can I go?

- Yeah, you can go – said Brass, looking at the picture. He had drawn her in front and profile, and it seemed like she could as well emerge from the paper and come to life. – Beautiful…

- The picture or the girl?

- Both. But yeah, the girl's really pretty.

- And smart. – Grissom said with a smile, and disappeared.

Brass passed the drawing to Catherine, who stared at it in awe.

- Well, you have the picture and the info. Happy now?

- Actually, I need you to do me a favor, Catherine. I need you to come to San Francisco with me.

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Thanks to CSIdleGSR for Betaing for me, and thanks to everybody who has reviewed. You really make me want to go on with this fic.


	5. Chapter 5: She's real She's here, with

**Chapter 5 : She's real, she's here, with me**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own CSI, and I don't own the song, which is Desert Rose by Sting. Thanks to CSIdleGSR for betaing this story.

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_I dream of fire  
Those dreams that tie two hearts that will never die  
And near the flames  
The shadows play in the shape of the mans desire_

**2007:**

Grissom didn't know if it was because they'd gotten careless or because it was the Miniature Killer who he attacked, but he soon found himself back at home. Not that he had much to do anyway. He had to stand for trial, and he'd probably spend the rest of his life in jail. Justice was served for Sara, so it didn't matter.

As soon as he entered home, what he saw let him speechless: there she was, sitting on the couch, playing with Bruno. She had been there the whole time and all! He had said goodbye to her before he went to meet Natalie! How could he have missed it? Probably because he was so used to having her… obviously she wasn't alive: he had kissed her dead body in the autopsy room and her ashes were in his bedroom; but she was there: either it was her soul he was looking at, or he was downright hallucinating. Either way, he didn't want to disturb this awesome vision.

So he sat on the couch beside her quietly and touched her hair ("she's real, she's here, _with me_" he thought), then he caught her in an embrace while he whispered in her ear, "I took care of it. I made justice for you, honey". She smiled at him and buried her head in his chest, whispering something back to him.

_And now she turns  
This way she moves in the logic of all my dreams  
This fire burns  
I realize that nothings as it seems_

- So, this is about a girl? – The psychiatrist asked.

- I don't know if that's the best way to put it – Catherine replied. – I could say it's about work getting too hard on him, loneliness and an unexplainable obsession, so to speak… he – and she pointed to Brass – asked me to go to San Francisco with him. He said some guy called him and identified himself as a former student of Grissom's, and that he was worried about him…

- So she went with me. We both knew something was off. – Brass continued. – After we talked to him, we rushed our way to the San Francisco Crime lab. We asked if Sara Sidle worked there, and the answer was a definite "No". So we tried to collect information about either someone called Sara Sidle or someone with her physical description, but to no avail. We felt… stupid, stupid and perplexed…the ever cold-hearted and uber cerebral Gil Grissom was dazzled by love or whatever you wanna call it, and now he was in serious, deep shit.

- Then we went back to Vegas and the next day of our arrival, we went to see Grissom at his place. The door was open, so it wasn't necessary to announce ourselves… we didn't expect to see what we saw – at this point Cath's voice started to break – on the walls of his once immaculate townhouse, there were hanging thousands of drawings of her along with his butterflies… I'm a scientist above and beyond everything, but at that moment I thought someone must have enchanted, bewitched or possessed him real bad…

- We went on looking for him at his home office, which didn't look any different from the rest of his house. He greeted us with surprise and some annoyance – he never liked having people at his place, much less unannounced – and I told him we needed to talk to him seriously about his thing for … you know… the girl… I told him it was dumb and stupid, and most of all, dangerous. I told him this would consume his life eventually, and that his former student had contacted us so he would talk to us about his "situation", and that we confirmed his version of it…

- What situation exactly? What's that "version of the story" you two confirmed? – asked the doctor

- Grissom asked that same question – Brass answered.

…

- What "situation"? What student? What do you mean by that?

- "Your" situation! Sebastian Pacheco, he was a student of yours at the seminar in San Francisco. He said he saw you last September there…

- Well, I was there and you know it, so what?

- He said he approached you, and you two had a conversation. He said you told him you were there because it was Sara's birthday and that she had been a classmate of his, the sat who sat in the last chair of the last row, and then he told you he remembered her and he asked you why did you keep in touch with her and you said something about work and CSI, and you called her to help her or to ask her for help.

- Both of you know that as well, Brass, you're seriously pissing me off.

- He told us for some strange reason nobody sat in that last chair during the seminar…

- Except for Sara…

- Except for Sara?! Sebastian was just following your lead to see how far would you get! According to him, everybody looked at you when you were walking down the campus and in the cafeteria!

- When I was hanging out with her, I noticed. Then again, so what? I don't care about how people judge me or whatnot, I don't care if she is…

- Grissom – Cath said, already crying – I know that. God knows we don't care either, we don't care if your girlfriend's to young or too old, or too ugly or too pretty or to good or too bad or whatever…

- Then what's –the-problem with this?

- _SHE DOESN'T EXIST, GRISSOM, THAT'S THE PROBLEM_ Do you think it's healthy, huh? To be talking to yourself? To call everyday to an useless phone number pretending to hear her voice? To call her name during that seminar when it's not even on the list? To take trips to San Francisco to celebrate birthday to a mirage? What's going on with you, Grissom? Are you so burned out? Are you so lonely? Are real women so below your standards that you have to make up one?

- She's real, Cath. She's here, with me – Grissom said dryly, pointing to a full-colored, full body, beautiful drawing on the wall

- Yeah, she's real – sighed Cath – in your motherfucking drawings!!! In your mind, in your heart if you want, but nowhere else!!! Nowhere in the real World!!!

…

- … And that's when reality hit. At that point we realized he was fucked up, he had lost it. Doctor Davis…

- Call me Natalie – she said with a smile, still recovering from the neck-slashing she had been victim of.

- Ok, Natalie… this is hard for all of us… his friends and colleagues – Cath couldn't help the tears from flooding – he seemed so happy, so peaceful, like this "girl" was actually doing good to him… I, too, wish she was real.

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Well, I hope you like it, see you the next chapter.


	6. Chapter 6: Don Quixote de Las Vegas

**Chapter 6: My Love**

**Disclaimer: ****I own nothing. CSI's not mine, the song is Desert Rose by Sting. I thank CSIdleGSR endlessly for BETAing me. I'll probably post an epilogue, but this is technically the final chapter of the fic, so you can choose between reading until here, or reading the epilogue as well (if I post it).**

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Grissom looked for his tuxedo in his closet, dusted it and put it on. He made the tie knot very, very carefully, lest he would forget the instructions Catherine had given to him the other day. How long since he wore it for the first and last time… no, not the one from when Ecklie got the promotion, but the other one, the one from when… He looked at the ring in his finger and decided it was the one.

Previously, he had cleaned and organized his whole townhouse, leaving it impeccable. He paid attention to every little detail, everything had to be perfect: from the bed sheets to his documents, form his butterfly collection to the champagne and the two purple candles and one orchid on the coffee table. He had also groomed himself, getting some cologne on, combing his hair and giving shape to his newly grown beard.

He had to admit he had given up on taking care of himself since that fateful night. His reflection on the mirror revealed a man who looked ten years older than he was with new wrinkles, bags under his eyes, an overtired expression and a lot of pounds less than before. He hadn't cared about it but now he did. He didn't want to look like this. He wanted to look handsome, healthy, strong, as young as possible. However, he had done his best to look good, and it was as good as he could get. And comparing the results with his earlier appearance, it was a huge improvement.

The night was just starting, and he was as nervous as a teenager who's about to ask a girl to be his prom date, or a groom about to receive his bride at the aisle. Well, in some way it was the same situation, even more definitive, with forever-lasting repercussions: there was no annulment, there was no divorce, and not "till death do us part". Not only did he know there was no turning back, but he loved the idea, it reassured him. The doorbell rang and he practically flew to the door, opening it with his trembling hands, hoping it was the person he was waiting for. It was.

The both stood there, frozen for an instant. Then, he took both her hands and guided her inside, never breaking eye contact, and kissed her softly. They went to the living room and as he opened the bottle of champagne, she opened the wooden little box next to it. He could tell the sight of her own ashes made her feel uneasy and nervous, so he helped her pour them into the champagne, and then shook the bottle.

They would have said something during the whole night, but under the circumstances and with the knowledge of what lied ahead of them, words seemed futile and meaningless. Besides, there was an eternity for them to talk. For now, they just wanted to feel each other's presence, dancing slowly to the song that played the first time they ever danced together, and drinking the liquor until they left the bottle empty. Suddenly, the whole world went shady, cloudy and diffuse and then… - everything disappeared. All they knew, all they could see and touch even two seconds ago, turned into distant, blurry memories. All there was left were the two of them. Perfect.

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Doctors and nurses rushed to the room 205, and found Gil Grissom having convulsions and rolling on the floor. He surely had been poisoned. They called the paramedics and while they were trying to give him first aid, one of the nurses spotted an open wooden box and an empty bottle of antiseptic alcohol. They all knew what used to be in that wooden box: the ashes of that big, beautiful, full-colored picture Dr. Davis had torn to pieces, with the intention of forcing Grissom to face reality – of course, she failed miserably. There was no need to know what had happened, it was obvious from whatever angle you looked at it. There was no remedy anymore. Grissom was leaving them, and the same nurse who spotted the box and the alcohol got to see him lift his gaze to the sky, and to hear his last words which were a whisper, the last breath of the one who dies knowing he'll find happiness on the other side. "Sara… you look beautiful tonight, my love".

_I dream of rain  
I lift my gaze to empty skies above  
I close my eyes  
The rare perfume is the sweet intoxication of love_

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